Free That Touch of Ink by Diane Vallere Page B

and purple had been painted at random, outlined with a thin line of black. The purple and black would have suggested rage to me, but the orange and yellow softened it, giving it a lighter hand.
    I was happy Hudson was painting again. His artistic passion infused most of his projects with a sense of purpose, but I knew furniture repair was far from a fulfilling creative outlet for him. I wondered why he never took me up on my offers of partnership. The offer came from a place of appreciation, as did the selfish satisfaction I got when he repeatedly said no.
    He wiped the back of his hands on his jeans and turned his amber eyes on me. “Can I ask you a question?”
    “Sure.”
    We stood next to the door that separated the garage from the house. Mortiboy, Hudson’s black cat, slunk out of the narrow opening between the house and the garage, and glared at me. He walked to Hudson and brushed his whiskers against the legs of Hudson’s jeans.
    Mortiboy was an unfriendly sort, except when in the company of his owner. I’d had the pleasure of cat-sitting him briefly a few months ago, and as much as I’d tried to create a bond with the furry black devil, he never quite accepted me or Rocky. Rocky, however, had taken to Mortiboy like fish take to water and followed him around our apartment despite repeated swats to the nose. Hudson scooped up Mortiboy and held him against his chest, scratching the cat’s ears until he emitted a rumble.
    “Madison, I’ve been thinking about things differently now my past is cleared up. None of that would have happened if it wasn’t for you.”
    “I never believed for a second you had anything to do with those murders.”
    “I know. And your belief in me kept me going. There’s no way to thank you for what you did for me, but I’d like to try. Do you think we could go out some time?”
    “Hudson,” I started. “My life is—just got—it’s complicated right now. I agreed to take on three new jobs, and the apartment needs repair, and—”
    “Your complications don’t have anything to do with your business, do they?”
    Mortiboy wriggled out of Hudson’s arms and jumped to the ground. I looked down at him. As much as I wanted to take Hudson up on his offer, my personal life was rooted in quicksand and until I found solid footing, I was in no place to start a relationship.
    “My complications don’t have anything to do with business,” I confirmed. “You know how you had demons in your closet, demons that I learned of a couple months ago?”
    “That’s all behind me now, thanks to you.”
    “I know. One of my demons came knocking on my door yesterday. Can you understand what I mean?”
    “I think so.”
    We stood together, the golden sunset bathing us in a rich glow that gilded the moment.
    “Madison, if you need anything while you’re sorting out that closet, don’t hesitate to ask. For anything.”
    I thought about Hudson’s artistic talents. “Well, there is one thing you could probably help me with,” I said.
    “Name it,” he said.
    “Well, you’re an artist, and there’s something I was wondering about.” I looked up at him and took a deep breath. “Hypothetically speaking, how hard would it be to counterfeit a bill?”

NINE

    Hudson put a hand on the doorknob, but turned back to face me. He leaned against the door with his hand behind him. For a moment, it felt like he was protecting me from whatever was on the other side of that door.
    “Counterfeiting is a lot harder than the movies would make it seem. Impossible if you plan to pass it.”
    “What if you’re selling to a collector? What if it’s a denomination that’s been out of print?”
    “You don’t sound like you’re asking hypothetical questions anymore.” Parts of the doorknob grated against each other as he turned it and pushed the door open. He stood back and let me through first.
    I hadn’t spent a lot of time in Hudson’s house, but I knew the layout. Inside the door was a long hallway